Thankful
by HitnRunHeretic
Summary: John knew how to read. Kind of. It was one of the few things John could thank his parents for. The other thing was Hilary. SPOILERS for those who haven't finished the book. Rated for minor f-bombing.


So, here's the thing. John knew how to read. Kind of. Enough to read signs and write his name and shit like that, which was a whole lot better than a lot of the street rats in Molly. Reading wasn't a necessity, not like a lot of other things John knew how to do (like use a knife and nick a loaf of bread and pick pockets and hide money in floor boards and not get killed) but it was one of the few things John could thank his parents for.

The other thing was Hilary.

And the thing about reading and Hilary was that John hadn't really gotten around to teaching Hilary how to read yet. He intended to, thought it was important enough and would help him enough to be worth learning, but he hadn't yet. Hilary was barely three, still eating bugs and not nearly patient enough to sit down and actually learn anything, and John didn't have the time anyways. Or resources. It was a little hard to teach someone to read when they didn't have anything _to_ read.

So John was a little more than a little surprised when he and Hilary were walking down the street (him holding on to Hilary's hand even tighter than usual because he had a habit of running and just last week a body had shown up in the alley near their home) and Hilary had pointed to a sign and said,

"Sorry, we're closed-ed!"

At first, John hadn't really caught on and had simply corrected him (no Hil, it's 'closed.' Just one 'ed') and it wasn't until a few seconds later that he stopped in his tracks (which, needless to say, upset the man that had been walking behind them. As far as John was concerned, the fucker should have been watching where he was going and those apples were probably bruised to begin with. He told the man as much.) and turned on Hilary in confusion.

"Did you just...did you just _read_ that sign?" John asked. Hilary tore his eye away from the retreating bruised-apple man and looked up at John before nodding. It was an exaggerated movement, as a result of too much energy, which Hilary seemed to have an endless supply of. John had no idea _how _he got that much energy - it certainly wasn't food; Hilary hadn't eaten since yesterday. John hadn't eaten since two days before that.

"How the fu- how'd you learn to read?" John asked. Hilary didn't answer, he was staring at a cat that was stalking a nearby alley. John tightened his grip again. Thing probably had fleas or rabies or something. And fuck if he was going to have a rabid three year old to take care of.

"Hil, I asked you a question," John repeated, pulling him away from the cat, "How'd you learn to read?"

Hilary shrugged. Then removed his thumb from his mouth and said, "Learned from 'ou."

John frowned. There were lots of things John taught Hilary, or tried to teach. Don't eat bugs, don't play near the stairs, don't go outside alone, don't talk to strangers, don't eat food from the garbage cans unless John's checked it first. He didn't learn anything from it half the time, so it was sometimes hard to know what John had told him something once already, or what he'd told him something a million times, but he was more than certain reading wasn't one of those things.

"No I didn't," John said, "How'd you learn to read?" Hilary shrugged again. Really, all his movements were over done, exaggerated. Or maybe it just looked exaggerated because of the way you could see the bones under Hilary's thin shirt. John tried not to think about that at the same time he tried to think about where he could get Hilary another shirt.

"But you tell me what the signs say at the corner and they have little things like that with the snake and it makes an "ssss" sound like in soup and street and stuff and the circle is an "o" 'cause it was in noodles and old like at the other shop and-"

"And you learned how to read from...from that?" John interrupted, staring at Hilary in shock. Hilary shrugged. John frowned and tugged Hilary forward to the next shop on the street. He pointed to the sign in the window.

"Read that," he demanded. Hilary looked at the sign and squinted. Then he took few steps forward till he was only a foot away from the sign.

"H-help," Hilary read, holding each word in his mouth for a few seconds before letting it out, like it was one of those little carmel sweets Miss Brekett, the women that let them stay in her attic above her restaurant in return for John's help keeping the place from falling apart, had given to them once, "Wanted-ed. Wanted. Help wanted." He looked up to John, who nodded. Hilary grinned at hopped up and down a bit, almost like a dance. John grabbed his hand again and pointed to another sign.

"What about that one?" John asked. Hilary squinted again, then dashed toward the sign, pulling John after him. He stopped about a foot away again.

"Sooners general store," Hilary said. He said the silent "e" at the end of store, but other than that he was right.

"Fu- I mean, bastion Hilary, that's…" John shook his head. Well, he thought, that was one less thing to teach him.

Hilary was looking at him, he realized. Or really, kind of half looking at him and half looking anywhere but at him. Waiting for something. He glanced at his shoes (which had holes in them, John noted. One more thing that needed to get replaced) and then back up at John, expectant. John took his hand again.

"That's...that's good Hil," he said, patting him on the head with his free hand, "_Very_ good. I'm proud of you."

Hilary smiled and suddenly John was very grateful that their parents had taught him to read.

* * *

A/N: I've decided Thom's glasses are for Nearsightedness, even though I don't have any basis for that. Expect more John and Hilary fics soon.


End file.
